


Rough Treatment

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: Fenris has no bedside manner.
Relationships: Fenris/Carver Hawke
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	Rough Treatment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notyourparadigm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourparadigm/gifts).



"I didn't know where else to go," Carver says, right before he passes out at Fenris's feet.

When he comes to, he's lying on his back on something hard. He's in pain, and at least partially undressed, if the cool air around him is any indication. Carver's about to yell, to jump up and flail, but there's a familiar face peering at him.

"Fenris?"

"I was about to start. Damn, would have been easier if you were still out."

Carver struggles to sit up and the stabbing pain starts again. He feels queasy.

"Lie still. You need to be stitched up. Should have gone to Anders."

He lies back, still uneasy, but the pain across his ribs is severe. "Since when do you advocate for him?"

"Stop talking, you'll make yourself sick exerting yourself when you're this weak. And only since it means less trouble for me."

"Trouble," Carver scoffs, and the word comes out as a wheeze.

"Hush."

Fenris sets to work with a sharp needle, a pair of tweezers, and a bottle of something that smells terrible and stings like a nest of hornets when he dabs it on Carver's open wounds. After a few stitches, Fenris slams his hand on the table by Carver's head.

"Stop moving; you're making this so much harder than it needs to be."

Carver grumbles, feels tears pricking behind his eyes from the pain, the exhaustion, and probably frustration. "I'm trying, fuck off."

"If you wanted me to fuck off, you wouldn't have collpased on my doorstep."

Loop through the skin, then through the loop, then tightened against the skin, over and over. Carver feels every movement, every pierce of the needle, every tug of the thread.

"Are you planning on telling me what happened?" Fenris asks.

"No," Carver grits out.

"All right, have it your way."

Fenris is as gentle as he can be, but Carver's open wounds are so sensitive that every touch feels like fire or maybe ice, burning, stabbing, wrenching, making him feel numb.

Carver's panting, hard, by the time Fenris is done, and dizzy from the pain.

"I can't do anything for the bruising. You'll need an actual healer for that," Fenris says, rising to clean his hands. "And I suppose you want to stay the night?"

"No, I'll just skip home, singing tra-la-la. Maybe I'll do a cartwheel."

Fenris flicks him in the ear with his thumb and forefinger. Carver barely registers the sting over the aching, pulling, thudding in his chest from the stab wound and subsequent trauma from the stitches.

"Can you make it to a bed, or do I leave you here? You ass."

Carver struggles to sit up, biting back a curse. He can't stop a burst of air from his lungs escaping in a whine.

"You look terrible," Fenris reminds him, but takes his arm nonetheless and helps him down off the table. Carver struggles to stay on his feet, but with Fenris holding him steady, they make it to one of the rooms with an unbroken bed. Fenris has to help him to sit and then lifts Carver's legs, pausing to pull off the mud-covered boots.

Carver squeezes his eyes shut over the embarrassment and tells himself he'd do the same if it were Fenris, though he's not sure he would. He'd leave it up to Marian to patch up her friends. Carver's sanity does better when he doesn't get involved in their bullshit.

Fenris kisses him, and oh, yeah, Carver's already involved with a lot of bullshit.

It's rough, possessive, with Fenris's hand at the base of Carver's throat, too hard to be conducive to healing. Carver mutters something to that effect when Fenris lets him go.

"You came to me," Fenris reminds him. "You come to me for one reason. Only. Not for hand-holding and braiding each other's hair. We can't very well do that one reason tonight, not without killing you. And I have no intention of braiding your hair."

"Fine," Carver says, submitting himself to another kiss. Even roughly, Fenris knows what he's doing. It's not one hundred percent horrible.

Finally, Fenris breaks away and slips into the bed next to him, turning away on his side.

Carver lies awake, trying not to breathe too deeply, pain fraying the edges of every thought. Fenris must think he's asleep later, much later, because he rolls over and kisses at Carver's shoulder, murmuring something into his skin that Carver doesn't understand.

He ignores it, knowing paying attention to it will bring on confusion, arguments, and feelings, all things Carver has no intention to deal with, now or ever.

The exhaustion battles the ache in his chest until it finally wins and he drifts off. 

In the morning, Fenris makes him tea and kicks him out; it's good, it's what Carver expects. No tender 'get well soon' scenes, no more sneaking kisses, just a nod and a door that closes in his face. That’s who they are.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Black Emporium; I hope this is up your alley!!


End file.
